


Heat Without Warmth, Light Without Sight

by rosy_cheekx



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: AU: Sasha Archivist, Angst and Feels, Archivist Sasha James, Canon-Typical The Beholding Content (The Magnus Archives), Canon-Typical The Desolation Content (The Magnus Archives), Desolation Avatar Tim Stoker (The Magnus Archives), Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Rewrite of Episode 159, Self-Destruction, using tim and sasha
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 22:08:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,290
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29425764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rosy_cheekx/pseuds/rosy_cheekx
Summary: Basira had seen it, the way Tim had stood amidst the rubble of plastic mannequins and brick and mortar, unscathed as smoke billowed into the sky, silhouetted in greys and blacks. It was terrifying, she said, in a completely different way than the Unknowing had been. Basira described Tim as unstoppable in that moment, a train bulleting towards destruction and revenge, a rage in his eyes that only intensified when he saw the unconscious form of Sasha James, bruised and lying in the rubble.
Relationships: Sasha James & Tim Stoker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 12
Collections: TMA Valentine's Exchange 2021





	1. Embers

**Author's Note:**

> So excited to be a part of TMA Valentines Exchange 2021! My piece was for barnabasbennett on Tumblr! I had a LOT of fun writing this and it has spurned some future ideas for Desolation!Tim content.

The archives are quiet. So quiet. Sasha can hear the tick of the clock on her desk and the hum of the radiator she had brought in so many months ago, back when her biggest concern was how cold her Archivist office was. Before the idea of heat reminded her of Tim in oh-so-many painful ways.

_The Unknowing had been…bad. Daisy had been imprisoned in The Choke, Sasha left unconscious and Basira forever changed. She had seen it, she told Sasha later, the way Tim had stood amidst the rubble of plastic mannequins and brick and mortar, unscathed as smoke billowed into the sky, silhouetted in greys and blacks. It was terrifying, she said, in a completely different way than the Unknowing had been. Basira described Tim as unstoppable in that moment, a train bulleting towards destruction and revenge, a rage in his eyes that only intensified when he saw the unconscious form of Sasha James, bruised and lying in the rubble._

_In Sasha’s six-month coma, she had missed a lot. Martin had explained things to her; sad compassion in his eyes as he stirred sugar into tea. Tim had fallen to the Desolation, The Cult of The Lightless Flame calling him home after they had heard about his sudden resilience to heat and flame. It made sense. Tim had experienced so much loss and destruction in his life, losing Danny and Jon (and, temporarily, Sasha) due to the machinations of The Stranger. His connection to the Desolation had probably been growing when none of them, not even Tim, had noticed. Sasha tried reaching out to him; Tim was still employed by the Magnus Institute after all, but he was sullen at his desk, the air around him smelling faintly of burnt hair and the iced coffees he used to love now simmering slightly in his mug. Sasha didn’t think he could’ve been any more withdrawn than he had been in the ramp-up to stopping the Stranger. But here he was, prickly and cold and altogether uninterested in Sasha’s attempts to reconnect with him._

Sasha unfolds the letter, singed at the corners. She must have just missed him. Again. Her heart pounds in her chest as she reads the words, written the slanted, neat print she knew so well.

> Sasha,
> 
> If nothing else, I will miss you. But that loss is essential, Jude says, to feeding the spark that binds us all. They think Agnes Montague’s spark passed to me when I decided my loss of life was more important than the survival of The Stranger and their ritual. Something about total commitment to pain, self-destruction, etc. There is some satisfaction in knowing how unhappy they are about it, especially Jude. I think she really wanted to be special. You’d hate her. Maybe it’s cliché, but I don’t think I’m coming back from this. It all began, and it all must end. Who knows? Maybe I’ll finally be able to quit.
> 
> ~~I~~ You are truly unforgettable, boss,
> 
> Tim.

Sasha had seen so many of the people she loved fall to the fears of this world in which they find themselves trapped. The loss of Jon had come first when the thing that Was Certainly Not Jon had stolen him away under their noses. This discovery had come with the loss of the heart of their office: Martin. Realizing he had been in love with a lie had broken something in him, and while Sasha did her best to show him compassion, she couldn’t imagine going through it all in his place. The nature of Gertrude’s death had shocked her; Sasha had known her, had seen such a strong woman she had been. To see (or rather _hear)_ her death reduced to a few cowardly gunshots felt…inadequate. Daisy had become softer after surviving the Buried, kinder to Sasha, but there the Hunt was still there, deep in her. Basira and Melanie were fine, but evasive, suspicious, too eager to wield a knife. And now?

Sasha had no friends, no one she could truly trust, no one left besides Tim. She hadn’t stopped trying to care for him, to make herself available, but she refused to keep her heart open for someone so clearly eager to move away from it all, even if that was motivated by a cult of fire and destruction and pain. But that love she had for Timothy Stoker was still there, the idiot who took her out for drinks and dressed up as her once for April Fool’s and had them all over for Guy Fawkes Day _(should she had guessed it then, his eyes illuminated by the pyre, drinking in the light and heat of the flames?)_ and insisted he cook for everyone whenever he got the chance.

Eyes sweeping over the letter over and over, she read the words, trying to hear each of them in his voice, feeling something in her gut twist as she read her name in his handwriting, in his voice, over and over. Tim had said it so many ways: with mirth, frustration, exhaustion, and warmth. There was still so much left to say. There were so many more ways for him to say her name, and Sasha wanted to hear them all.

This letter? This would not be the last time he said her name. Sasha James, the Archivist, would make damn sure of that.

-

Sasha is hurrying through the Institute when she almost collides with Elias Bouchard. His hair is unkempt, shaggy from his time in prison, but he is dressed immaculately, black dress shirt rolled to his elbows and a tie that seemed to shimmer yellow-green when it catches the light.

“You-Elias, what the hell?” Sasha takes an involuntary step back, hand ghosting to the letter opener she had instinctively tucked into her waistband.

“Save the effort, Archivist. I’m only here to help, after all. My sources say Tim has left?”

“Sources?” Sasha spits the word, fingers resting against the mottled blue handle of the blade. “Please. There’s no need to hide what you are anymore, _Elias_.”

“Hmm, very well.” His fingers drum patiently on his jaw, one elbow elegantly balanced on the opposite wrist. He looks too calm, too relaxed for the anxiety and anger thrumming its way through Sasha’s chest. “So, you don’t want to know where he’s gone?” Fuck. Elias’s eyebrow arches expectantly, eyes staring past her as he focused on what she could now recognize as what she called the Knowledge.

“Elias Bouchard, t̶̡̟̲͓̩̜̣͕͇̟̱͉̹̽̋̑̑̅̊͒́̔̂͠ͅe̶̝͍̜̲̘̙̤̰̬̞͒͗l̴̛͕̜̟̟̰͑̿̎̎͛͌̽̆͆̓̋̾l̴̟̤͚͉͔̼̄̈́̆̌̏̇͝ ̷͖̙̠͕̜̮̬̟̝̰̫͍̆ṁ̶̨̗̮͍̖͍͖̱̟̍̽͜͝e̴̗̩͒̈́͛̊̽̿ ̷̧̨̡̦̻̙͎̬̪̞͕͙͖̓͂͂͂͂̊̔̊̕̚͜w̴͈̖̦̒̾̽͑̓̑̎̂̇͗̂͒ḩ̸̩̺͎̤̳̰̘̱̣̍ę̵̫͚̖̇͜r̷̢̘͍̣͚̠͚̫̦̭͌ͅͅͅẻ̵͓͖̆̒ ̵͇͕̱̬̻̖͔̲͇͇͊̓͊́̽̍̋̓̈́̎̿̆̕͘͝h̷̨̡̧̨̻̝̲̱̬̻͙̻͋́͒̈͆͛͛̒͂̉̈́̎͜e̴̡̪͓̘̳͇͙̪̠̳͈͔̳͕͗̓̉̎ ̵̢̡̟͍̬͖͔͎̹͇̞͗̓i̶̲̬̰͙̖̘̮̠̘̜̙̗̍̈́̀̌̔͌̊͋́̍͌̑̚͝s̶̞̱̥͚̽̔̏͠͝.”

Her voice echoes with persuasion, the smooth words rolling off her tongue before she could consider it. Elias sighs, seeming almost tired with her. “ _He’s in the Desolation_.” Elias sighs, seeming almost tired with her. “Honestly, Sasha, I would have told you without you needing to ask like that.”

She tunes him out, her own Knowing searching for Tim and landing her only with a burning inside her skull. She hisses her pain through her teeth and focuses back on Elias, who seems almost _amused._

_God, what a bastard_. “Ȟ̶̡̱͈̖̱̱̱̤̮̖̳̬̆̿͐͛̾͗͠͝͝ͅͅo̷̡͎̙̓͗̋̂͊̏̏̅̚͘͝ẅ̶̢̨̧̝̖͚̦̱̟̹̼͕͌͌͌̋̒̆͑̈́̓͛͠ ̶̱̩̜̖̫̼̰̐d̴̢͈͍̗̱̀̉̽͋o̷̢̡̫͈̼̺̹̩̥͕͕͘̕ ̵̢̭̦͍̬͖̪̹͍̬̝͝I̶͕̥̱̤̽̿̃̃̂͐̔͒̒̇̆͗̚̕ ̴̛̞̜̘̥͓̙̗̫̰̙̼̝̀͗͋̊́̕ḡ̴͈͈̗̜̦̇͐̏̿̾̅̆̎̂̊̕͠e̷̡̡̲̘̞̟̤̗͓̺̱̣̘͐̆̈́̔̎̃͋́ṯ̶̨̺̜̪̺̼̼̟̽̽̍̾̊͊̒̕͘ ̵̢͔̟͈̘͚̫̩̭͑̃͘ͅt̸̪̊͛̽̀͒h̴̘̫̖̤̜͕̻̺̯̼̦̟͔̋̍̋̈̌̃͐̈́̍̋e̶̢̛͚͉͕͓̪̖̘͖͇͇̫̲͉̐̀̈́̋̄̃̆̽̃̍͊̓ͅr̵̨͍͖̜͕͈̱̤̤̭͈̳̯̜͈̆͒̾̎̓̓̀̐̈̂̉̕͠e̴̦̱̺͓̝͕̥͔̮̓͐͛̚?̸̛̝̞̦͈̦̿͐͌̂̌̆͂̆̔̋͗͒̊”

“Honestly, Sasha, you’re wearing yourself out. Timothy and Jude just left. They were in the library; I’m sure you can follow them. Let your mind follow theirs. Find the right string, if the Mother will pardon my analogy, and pull it. I’m sure they left the door open for you.” He winks, as if enjoying a private joke, and turns on a polished leather shoe, striding towards the Archives with purpose.

Sasha redirects her course and hurries to the library. Is this a trap? Almost definitely. But honestly, she doesn’t care. _Rosie, head of the institute while Elias had been “previously occupied," had been the last to leave the Institute_ , Sasha Knew as she ran, _clocking out at 18:02_. The librarians and assistants were gone. It was just her. Well, she and Elias, certainly. She was already a pawn in this fourteen-way game of chess; she may as well take down some bishops if this was going to be her end. She has never met Jude Perry, but Tim was right about one thing: she certainly already hated her.

-

In the library, Sasha halts in the doorway, taking in the scene in front of her. The heat is excruciating on her cheeks as she sees a blazed trail of singed books, paper, and manuscripts. The burning in her face and soul is caused not by any fire, but by the sheer anger that someone dared mar her memories of this library, where she had met so many of the people she loves. Loved. No, _loves_ , she decided with certainty. Jon is gone, the true memory of him lost to everything but the errant polaroid, Martin is all but gone, a shell of the warm man they had known, and Tim is just out of reach. But despite all this, maybe in sheer _spite_ of everything they’ve been through, Sasha still present-tense loves each of them.

It is that love, she thinks, that guides her now, more so than the omniscient Eye that paves her way to the Desolation, the scar on reality widening and opening for her before it swallows her whole, the library crumbling into ash around her.

One way or another, she was going to end this.


	2. Inferno

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His voice echoes slightly and seems deeper than it used to be, hoarse, like he’s choking on the smoke billowing up on all sides. She watches his shoulders sag slightly. “I’ve lost all the people who make life home. Danny and Jon and Martin and you. It’s not…not the same anymore. It never can be. I’ve lost so much Sash, what’s the point in trying to keep anything good around?”

The place she steps into is black, desolate. Ash floats by her face, and she coughs slightly, pressing her sleeve to her nose to avoid inhaling the specks. The ground beneath her feet is cracked and gives way slightly as she takes step after step. She can feel heat radiating from every corner, can see waves of air warping the desolate landscape in front of her. Sweat prickles the back of her neck as she scans the horizon, looking desperately for anyone familiar. “Tim! Tim Stoker!” She hopes her voice is stronger than the fear wavering in her chest.

“He doesn’t want to see you.” A hot wind swirls around Sasha’s ears and she spins around, looking for the source of the voice. A short woman is standing, maybe ten feet away, skin grey with streaks of ash and short hair singed at the tips, orange embers glowing slightly.

“Jude.” Sasha doesn’t need to try to Know to identify the woman in front of her. “Lucky for me, you don’t get to decide that.”

A short bark of laughter and Sasha sees Jude’s eyes flash shades of orange and red. “I don’t have to. I don’t think you understand what you’re dealing with here, Archivist. Your dear _friend_ —” she spits the word like a curse, “-is made for something so much greater than whatever your Eye could have offered him. Even your boss friend knew that. He has the spark of destruction in his soul and we intend to release it.”

 _Even your boss friend?_ Sasha fumes, giving over to the rage bubbling in her chest. _Fucking Elias._ “Elias knew. That’s why he kept sending Tim out to investigate you guys. And why he was so content with letting Tim’s connection to the Eye weaken.” It was not a question. Jude’s cracked smile grew and hung slightly, unnaturally wide on her face. “Let me see him.”

“We are in the Blackened Earth, in the heart of destruction.” Jude’s voice stays resonant, echoing on all sides of Sasha even as her stout, tattooed body crumbles to ash and blew away with the wind. “That is up to him, now.”

“Wha- _shit_. Tim!” Sasha calls, turning blindly in the hellscape, begging whatever pull the Beholding had here to lead her towards him. She feels the humming of a tape recorder in her pocket and presses a hand to it, grounding her, as she closes her eyes and reaches out her mind for Tim. Timothy Stoker, the man who loved iced coffee and cinnamon scones. Tim, who held her hand when she found out her father died and treated her to drinks the night she had gotten her promotion. Tim, who suffered and lost but still put on a smile to take care of the ones around him, who had kissed her forehead that one time she fell asleep at her desk, the time he had covered her with a blanket. “Tim, please. I’m here!”

“Sasha?” The voice she hears behind her makes her heart ache. She turns and is unable to hold back her gasp. Tim is floating, maybe half a meter off the ground. His skin is licked by flames, a fire that sheds no light but burns white-hot, while his skin keeps its shape underneath. He is naked, and Sasha would maybe be embarrassed for him if not for the gravity of the situation. Tim’s head is tilted up slightly, arms and legs akimbo, and his eyes, oh _god his eyes_. They were ash. Compact grey dust in his skull, floating and shifting in the ripples of heat radiating off him, around him, _through him_. “Sasha, you shouldn’t be here.”

“Tim, what did they do to you?” She asks, taking a step towards him. He is maybe two meters away, she could take a few steps and reach him, but the heat rolling off him is intense and she’s not sure how to survive it. “I’m-I’m here to take you home.”

“Home?” Tim seems to roll the word in his mouth. “I don’t think there is home anymore, Sash. You know me. Home isn’t place, it’s people.” His voice echoes slightly and seems deeper than it used to be, hoarse, like he’s choking on the smoke billowing up on all sides. She watches his shoulders sag slightly. “I’ve lost all the people who make life home. Danny and Jon and Martin and you. It’s not…not the same anymore. It never can be. I’ve lost so much Sash, what’s the point in trying to keep anything good around?”

Before she can answer, Sasha watches as the fire over Tim’s body brightens. Wincing at the strange image of this bright yet lightless flame, Sasha squints. It was a strange mix of the blindness one experiences from light and by darkness at once, a sudden feeling of displacement in space coupling the heat. When her eyes adjust, Tim is gone.

Maybe it is a byproduct of the Desolation, maybe it was just months of pent-up grief, anger, and fear, but Sasha feels her whole body shaking as she shouts into the lightless sky. “Jude! Jude Perry! I would like to speak with you.”

“You’re lucky I’m feeling friendly today.” Jude strides into view from nowhere, her candlewax skin rippling, reminding Sasha vaguely of a cat bristling. “Have you decided to become one of us?”

“Far from it.” Sasha steps forward, until she is a foot away from Jude, eyes flashing across her face. “I know you, Jude Perry. I’ve read statements about you.” Far away, a part of Sasha registers the shift in her voice. _“I know your desperation, your desire for control, the devotion you had to Agnes Montague.”_

“Don’t you _dare_ speak her name.”

“ _I know you want to feel like you’ve done enough for the Lightless Flame, and for the Desolation, and for Agnes. But it will never be enough, Jude. You will never be enough to feed the flames of destruction and pain and loss. Isn’t that what you want, Jude Perry? To be consumed? À̸̡̖̗̖̗͓͈͉̬͇͙̌̈́̽̆͆̏͌͛̏̽̄̂͜ͅͅn̴̢͖͙͕̻̪̘͍̞̱̗̲̺̾ṡ̵̛̖͚̺̬̗̖͔̜̠̆̔̌̆̑̏͝w̸̤̫͔͙͓͉͙͈̯̼͔̅̐ͅę̵̣̬̻̻͈͍̂͒͋͛͐̕ŗ̵̢͙̹͚͎̗̬͔̺͚̜̹̹̘̑̑ ̷̢̨̧̩͖̥̰̜͉̯͙̼͊̍̀̈́̑͑̇̈́̈̒ͅm̸̢̨̛͚̤͚͙̽͆́e̵̼̖̣̘̞͔̫̘̬͖̱̲̜̐͋͐͂͗̾̆͘.̶̨̥̼̠͙͚̝͍̗͕̑͛”_

Jude’s face rolls through a series of emotions, a slack-jawed submission passing over her face mixed with a tense reservation. Sasha has no time to feel guilt, but even if she did, she’s not sure she would. She watches as Jude ground her teeth, eyes set intensely on Sasha’s face. Sasha’s heart pounds and her mind burns with the effort as she psychically stared down the woman who has taken Tim away.

Jude cries out as she drops to her knees after what felt like hours of staring, cradling her head in her hands. As she falls, her knees dissolve into ash, and cracks travel up her legs, her torso, her arms, twisting and pulling her skin apart like taffy before it solidified into grey, blowing away in a hot wind. Sasha watches Jude’s eyes, the last thing to crumble, blackened and smoldering, before dropping to the ground, two small balls of coal on the cracked, barren landscape.

Adrenaline is coursing through her veins, Sasha realizes, and she looks down, unclenching her fists and rubbing at the half-moons she has carved into her palms. Her whole body vibrates slightly. _Oh god, what has she done? What if she can never find Tim now?_

“Sasha?”

_Oh._

The Archivist sees Tim in the corner of her eye, floating still, flames licking his body, whose own ashy eyes seem to be focused on the spot where Jude had been, expression blank.

“She’s gone, Tim,” Sasha says hopefully. “You can come home now.”

Tim’s scoff is quiet, a mere echo of the warmth it had once held. “I see so much destruction and loss, Sasha, it’s everywhere. The world is nothing but annihilation. From the moment we are born our bodies spend their lives decaying. How can I pretend there is anything but loss in a world like this?”

“You’re right, Tim.” Sasha concedes softly, stepping forward. He's a little over a meter away. He doesn't react to her movement. “We’ve lost so much, I know. _But why serve something that brings you so much loss?_ ”

“ _Maybe I can keep it from hurting_ ,” Tim says, voice shaking at the persuasion. “S-Stop it.”

“I can’t, I’m sorry. _Don’t focus on the world, Tim. Focus on me._ The world is so big and we are so small. We’ve lost, Tim,” and she closes the gap, taking Tim’s hand, gasping at the searing heat of his skin but not daring to let go. “But we can still find happiness.”

“Happiness.” Another quiet laugh, empty, hollow. “You know, I really loved you, Sasha. I used to imagine happiness with you.” Tim’s voice is low, dangerously calm. “I mourned you. I thought you were dead. And then you came back all _different-”_

“Tim. Hey.” _No time, focus on those words, those thoughts, later_. “I’m still here. I’m different but I’m me. Just like you’re different but still you.”

“Am I, Sasha? Really?”

“Of course you are. Just, let me prove it to you. Focus on me Tim. _Focus on me and t̷̨̳̙̯̰̦͔͎̘̳͐̎̚ͅē̸̦̼̻̪̪̻̖̣͊͘͜l̸͈͚͖͍͙̲͇͎̥͚̃̄͐͜l̴̰̖͖̞͍̩͔̂͛̍͆̈́̚͠ ̷̪̪̠̮̤̦̊̉m̵̨̨̮͚͎̻͈̻̟͋̈́͆̑̈́̔̋̉̍̀̾ę̴̡̡͍̦̱͈͓̭̲̤̪͛̍̇ ̶̨̨͎̟̼̬̖̯̼̓́̌̈͊̐͋̾̉̒̚͝w̶̤̯̫̱̬͍͚̮̳̱͉̉̽̑̿̈́̑̔͘͘͝͠h̸̨̨̘̠͇̩̳̑̀̍́̊̉̕͠a̶̛̲̪͙̤͂̑̓̔̆̓̇͌̏̊̾̔t̸̛̰̣͓̱̓̿͌͌͑ ̸̦͂̈̈͌͛͐̚ỳ̶̼͊͋͗͛͛͂̇̈́͒̇͝o̶̤̮̺̔ų̶͉̗̦͈͕̼̺̯͖̺̠͔̘̺̆͂ ̴̨̫̟̭͖̠̥͖̙͖̠͖͚̟̋́͒̔͌̋̍̈͘̚͜͝ŝ̴̡̢̡͍̖̰͙͔͠e̷̼͙̤̣̹͚͙̗̼͙͓̊̋̿̊̚e̵̻͕̞̱͔̩̦̫͓̞͍̳͓̙̥̓̒̃̂̃̌̍͆͝.̵̢̧̡̡̝̪͈͇̬̟̩̍̓̾͛̒̂͜͝_ ”

With her words she tries to pour herself into him, trying desperately to show him what she sees. A man, powerful and broken and hurting, but a man. Her friend. Someone she trusts. She tries to convey the love and fear and compassion she feels into a single solitary image.

Tim gasps slightly and blinks, eyes slipping from ashy and grey to heartbreakingly glassy and blank. “Sasha, I-I see you,” he whispers, the flames snuffing out. Tim falls to the ground, closing the space between the ground and his feet, and Sasha pulls him into a hug, ignoring the singe of scorched hair that halos his skin.

Tim’s arms wind around her back and Sasha hisses slightly at the burning pain in her hand. Looking down, she sees a ghost of a hand echoed in her own, Tim’s fingers and hand where she had grabbed his skin. She watches, tucked into Tim’s shoulder, as the burn stitches itself together, healing and leaving a deep, calloused scar across her palm instead.

“Tim,” she murmurs, stroking his hair away from his face. “We need to get out of here.” She straightens, handing him her cardigan to tie around his waist. She grabs his hand instinctively and turns to face the ashy terrain in front of them. “Don’t worry. I know the way.”


End file.
